Chapter Text
Stiles wonders if it should be weird to not know the most basic things about someone, yet know how they sound when they’re coming. It occurs to Stiles to wonder when they purchase movie tickets and Derek, in line after Scott, buys two. One for Stiles, and one for himself.
Like a date, Stiles thinks, but it's really not. He thinks about protesting, but Derek glares at him and hands him one of the tickets, so that's that. But seriously, Stiles just realized that he has no clue where Derek gets his money from, and that wouldn't bother him so much if Derek didn't drive around in a car designed to make people drool, yet also camp in his own home.
They’re making their way through the theater and Stiles is eying the concession stand - he doesn’t eat food like this at home, and a hot dog sounds really good right now. As do nachos, and French fries. He starts over to it, wanting to buy it before Derek and his odd chivalry or whatever it is decides to intervene.
"Shit," Scott says, stopping so suddenly that Stiles would have plowed into him if not for Derek's hand catching his collar and holding him back. "I told Allison that I had to work, and she's here with her aunt, and now I'm — ack!" Scott chokes, slammed against the wall out of sight. Stiles is in a similar position, but Derek is much gentler with him. Stiles can almost peek around the wall and see — Derek's hand grips the collar of his shirt again and jerks him back.
"We have to leave. Her aunt can't see me with either of you, she's dangerous," Derek says, and Stiles, thank God, thinks before he makes a joke about shared history. He sees the alarm in Derek's face, and connects it to oh crap, hunters pretty quickly. No one wants exposure, of course, but Stiles knows that his life and Scott's life can get pretty awful when hunters know about any connection they have with Derek - he doesn't need any experience with them to know it, either. They'd probably be safe in a theater of people, but after? They'd probably never be safe again. "You two can stay," Derek eyes Stiles, glaring, obviously misreading how upset he is. Stiles doesn't even bother wondering how, exactly, Derek knows these things — he could smell them, he could sense them, or maybe just see it, by the way Stiles is scowling and glaring toward the Argent family around the corner.
Stiles quickly shakes his head no, definitely not staying, while Scott all but yells, "Didn't you hear me? Allison is here and I'm not supposed to be!" Stiles rolls his eyes and tries to look at Derek to convey the message to not, like, make fun of Scott or anything. Derek's not looking at him, though, he's peering around the corner. Stiles feels like needs to punch something, but he knows that it's Derek's malevolence and anger and wow, there's a lot of it, fear too. There's a story there, probably, or maybe Derek just hates hunters, which is also totally plausible.
Stiles keeps forgetting how complicated his life is, and it's odd that he would, because his best friend is a werewolf and so is — Derek. His alpha, who just gives him a look and jerks his head toward the door. Stiles doesn't say a word, only nods and follows Derek outside, trusting Scott to follow as well. Maybe he and Scott can go to the movies tomorrow, and they can actually get something productive done today — not necessarily what needs to be done, but taking steps closer to getting Scott into the pack wouldn't hurt.
But if they come back tomorrow maybe Stiles should get a refund, since their movie hasn't even started yet. "Hey, uh, you want me to return the tickets? Get a refund?" Stiles asks quickly, jogging to catch up to Derek, remembering his thoughts from earlier too — Derek and his house and his car and his money and Derek.
"What I want," Derek says, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, "is to leave here. Now." Right, okay, Stiles can accept that. No refund. ...okay, he's having trouble accepting it. He really should just take all their tickets and give them away, at least, so that they aren't wasted. "Stiles. Stop thinking about anything other than the immediate danger we could be in," Derek suggests, glaring at him, and yeah. Stiles can do that. Derek's eying the parking lot and the people near them, like he expects hunters to pop out from behind the P.T. Cruiser they're walking by and start shooting.
"I, um," Stiles says as they get to his Jeep, eying Derek's car which is only a few spaces down. He wonders if he can see Derek tonight, or if that's a no-go. Scott is looking over his shoulder like he expects Allison to be there, or maybe her creepy aunt. "Maybe we could eat, instead?" He suggests, and Derek stops glaring around the parking lot to focus on him.
"No. You're going home. I'll — hey," Derek catches Scott on his shoulder as he tries to head toward Stiles' Jeep's passenger door. "I'm taking Scott home. You are not coming," Derek says firmly when Stiles tries to protest, and he pushes Scott toward his car. Stiles is getting a feeling in his stomach a lot like dread.
"Derek, you're not," Stiles trails off, and gestures between Derek and Scott. "Are you? I mean, I'm going to worry regardless, I'd just like you to narrow down what I'm worrying about so I don't have a panic attack," Stiles says, meaning for it to be offhand, but he sees Scott's face go from nervous to angry and knows that he failed.
Stiles breathes a sigh of relief when Derek says with exasperated sincerity, "We're talking." Derek shoves Scott back towards his car as he tries to move toward Stiles, and Stiles feels a fondness for Scott that he hasn't really felt since before Scott punched him. Scott's a good friend. "And that's it," Derek adds, and he doesn't have to promise because Stiles knows he's telling the truth, somehow. It's still worrying, but not in that way that makes Stiles worry about having to cover up a potential murder or something. Just in that way that makes him wonder if he has enough patience to deal with the inevitable bitching that will come from Scott, at least. Stiles kind of wonders if Derek would bitch to him and then dismisses it as definitely not.
"Ooh-kay," Scott says, turning around again to face Stiles. "I guess I don't get a say in this?" Derek is back to glaring, but at least it's at Scott. Stiles just shrugs and shakes his head. "Bye," Scott sounds dejected, which Stiles totally understands.
The thing is, Stiles trusts Derek when he says that he's going to talk with Scott and do nothing else. Stiles knows that Scott truly doesn't, and he understands that. He figures that this will be good for him. Things will be okay, they can get through it and bounce back from anything. What choice do they have?
---
When Stiles is wrong, he's not usually this spectacularly wrong. "I'm being followed," Stiles says into his phone, glancing into his rearview mirror. "I'm being followed, guys, what the fuck do I do? Oh, fuck, it's Allison's dad and he sells guns to my dad and I'm going to die," Stiles moans into the phone, and then suddenly, he has an idea. It's completely born out of desperation and the fact that he can hear Derek growling like he's transforming, and he can hear Scott flailing and panicking. "Wait, wait! Why don't I just talk to him and, like, I don't know — try to subtly talk about werewolves or you guys or mountain lions or the danger I'm in. And I can be completely unaware of what he's doing and man, I got this," Stiles feels absolutely no confidence whatsoever, but he thinks he's faking it pretty well. Except that Derek knows when he's lying, but they won't mention that right now.
He hangs up on Scott, ignoring Derek's shouts in the background because really, what can he do? He has to stop at this red light, and he's almost prepared for when two trucks frame him in. One is so close behind him that Stiles thinks that if he let off the brake the few inches he moves back before shifting into gear would cause him to hit the thing, and the other just drives in front of him, so that Stiles would have to t-bone the vehicle to get away.
It's barely dark, but there's no one on the road, and these hunters are brazen. And terrifying, holy shit. It's Allison's dad that comes up to his window, and Stiles doesn't have to fake the fear he's feeling. He gapes a moment at the man until Mr. Argent knocks on his window, making Stiles jump. "Stilinski," he hears the man say loudly. "We're not going to hurt you. Roll down your window."
"I'd rather just call my dad, thanks!" Stiles says, and pretends to fumble for his phone. He can do this, he can do this. He has to do this because — he isn't sure how, maybe Allison's aunt saw him with Derek, but he can at least try to throw them off the werewolf trail. Maybe a little. They can't know about Scott or else he'd be dead for getting so close to Allison, but he's — fuck, he's sure they know about Derek.
Stiles tries to swallow around the nausea he feels. "Don't do that, son," Allison's dad says, in a concerned voice that Stiles knows is preempting a very violent action, probably the breaking of his window and the pulling of his body out of his car and the end of his life. "We're worried about the company you've been keeping. Derek Hale is dangerous, you know that, right?"
Oh no, Stiles isn't aware of that at all. "He is?" Stiles asks, looking out the window. He has to get this right, he has to. Stiles pretends, and quickly rolls down his window to Mr. Argent's surprise, because right now he doesn't know anything about Derek Hale except that he's not actually a murderer and is just kind of really hot. "My dad said he was cleared on all charges? I mean, he's all right to hang out with." Stiles' Jeep makes a clunking noise and then stops. "What the hell? Crap," Stiles really wasn't expecting this, because even though his Jeep might look like a piece of crap, it rarely stalls now that he's gotten used to driving it. He tries to start it as Mr. Argent looks on, and feels a sudden shiver of oh my God, how when he sees the man smirk out of the corner of his eye. "It won't start," he says plaintively, and looks up at the man.
"I'm good with cars. C'mon, I'll see what I can do, while you tell me why you think Derek Hale is 'all right to hang out with,' as you say," Allison's dad insists, of course. Stiles opens his door and follows the man, planning furiously, head down and trying to get a better idea of what to do. Mr. Argent is almost turned away but catches Stiles' blush, the one that Stiles knows is there because he's thinking about Derek and his possessiveness, and the way he came on Stiles' face earlier today.
"I don't know, I think he's — misunderstood?" Stiles asks, like he's trying the word out in relation to Derek. It's true and it's not, at the same time, because he knows he understands Derek much better than these hunters do. "I — um, I can call my dad for a tow to the station, sir, you don't need to," Stiles stops as Mr. Argent pops his hood. "Right, okay."
"Why don't you tell me why you and Derek left the movie theater?" Mr. Argent asks, and Stiles frowns at him like he's being creepy and he should know, because he is. Shit, shit, his sister must have seen them, did she see Scott? "I'm sorry to ask, but my sister saw you two trying to hide behind a wall, and then she said that you two must have left. Together," Mr. Argent adds like that's significant, and it's Stiles' cue to blush again.
He's standing by Mr. Argent as the man tinkers under the hood of his Jeep, not actually doing anything to it. Stiles wonders how the man did it, killing his car. "We, um, were going to see Zombie Facers, but suddenly he got kind of, um. He said that there was a — okay, so this is going to sound weird, but he said that there was a murderer there," Stiles says, and Mr. Argent's head snaps up to look at him in the eye. It sounds plausible; Derek knows that Mr. Argent’s sister is a hunter so she is a murderer of sorts, but Stiles doesn't know any of it, so it definitely sounds weird to him. "I told you it sounded weird, okay?" Stiles says, shrugging defensively. He sees movement next to his Jeep and for a moment he thinks that he's fucked, that Scott and Derek came to rescue him and now they're all going to die. Only it's the hunters from the other truck, shining flashlights in his windows. "Um, what are you guys doing?" They flash the lights at him, and the light looks — off, somehow, like it’s actually brighter than his eyes can detect, more blue-white instead of yellow-white.
Like they’re designed to see if Stiles is a werewolf, reacting to the light with more handicapping senses, oh my God. "Nothing," they say simultaneously, and Stiles gets the feeling that they're addressing Mr. Argent instead of answering him. Holy crap, they were looking for Derek in his Jeep, too. He's so glad Derek drove Scott home. Stiles looks back to Allison's dad and tries not to wince under the heavy, scrutinizing gaze.
"Did he say anything about this murderer?" Mr. Argent asks him, and Stiles isn't sure what's going on, but this is not the way he expected this to go. He expected a lot more intimidation and fear-o'-Godding than...whatever the hell this is. Mr. Argent is assuming that he knows Derek, but not about the secret. So he's not playing all his cards.
"...no? I asked, but he just got really angry — not at me!" Stiles assures Mr. Argent when the man starts to look at him with something like genuine concern. "And then he said that we had to leave immediately, and that I should go straight home and have dinner with dad," Stiles says, and thinks that it sounds good, like Derek wanted him safe.
Just before Mr. Argent gets a concerned and speculative look in his eye, Stiles thinks that it's probably a bad idea to admit that he's endeared himself onto a werewolf, in the presence of hunters. Even if it's made up for all intents and purposes, and mostly in his head. "So he cares about you," Mr. Argent says, and it's not really a question. Stiles blushes anyway, and it's not fake this time. "Are you gay?" The man asks bluntly, and Stiles doesn't fake his glare either.
"What is it with everyone today and that question? Does it, like, matter?" Stiles asks, still blushing. "It's my best friend dating your daughter, not me," and as soon as he says it he wishes he could take it back, but Mr. Argent just smiles ruefully, suddenly.
"I know, I'm just — are you with Derek Hale because he can get you alcohol?" Mr. Argent asks, and now Stiles is just gaping. What the hell goes through parents' heads? And anyway, there's much easier ways to get alcohol than taking a dick up the ass. This is sort of insane, how off track and out of control this conversation is getting. A small part of Stiles' brain notices that Allison's dad isn't even pretending to mess with his car anymore, like he already knows what's wrong with it.
Which, of course he does, he somehow caused it. Somehow, and it’s going to annoy Stiles that he’ll never know. "He's only twenty," Stiles says, frowning. "Sir," he adds, like he's trying to remind himself to be polite. "And I wouldn't — he wouldn't, it's not like that," Stiles is so uncomfortable right now. His best friend's girlfriend's father who is a werewolf hunter who also broke his car is interrogating him about his fictional-only-not relationship with his werewolf alpha.
"Oh," Mr. Argent says thoughtfully, and then ducks his head down to pretend to work on the car some more. Stiles really wishes that there was traffic, but the street is eerily quiet. He wonders if the hunters have something to do with that, too, but dismisses the idea before he creeps himself out even more. "But you want it to be, even after you thought he was capable of murder," Mr. Argent asks lightly, and this. This is the conversation that Stiles never really wanted to have with anyone, but it's pretty damn fortuitous that he's having it now, because he can possibly clear up misconceptions about Derek and keep Scott safe. If he can keep from puking.
"It's not — okay, so it is. But he's not a bad guy. He's actually kind of funny, in a weird and dry like the desert sort of way," Stiles says, determinedly not meeting Mr. Argent's eyes. The other hunters come around and are trying not to gape at him, he can tell. "And he, I don't know," Stiles trails off, like he wants to say something, but isn't sure how it will come across, which is close enough to the truth. He needs Allison's dad to try and gain his trust.
"What is it, Mr. Stilinski?" Mr. Argent asks, and now Stiles can't tell if it's real or fake concern. It's annoying not to know, but Stiles knows his answer either way. He isn't sure if they think that the crazy murdering alpha is Derek, so this is one way to make sure they don't try to kill Derek just in case. But they will probably try that anyway, being hunters, so Stiles guesses that he just has to make sure that they don't hunt Derek quite so avidly as they do the alpha.
"I feel safe around him," Stiles confesses quietly, and it's kind of sad that only now, in a fake conversation, does he let himself see that as the truth. "It's weird to say, but I do." Stiles has never felt like more of an idiot, honestly. Like he's sort of debasing himself for Derek, but he's not, but he is kind of. At least, that's how he feels. He has himself, and his dad, and maybe the thought of needing anyone else bothers him. But he does need Derek, because werewolves exist and recently his life has been turned upside down again, so.
"Ah," Mr. Argent says, and looks like he's at a loss of what to say. He looks up, over Stiles' head at the other hunters, his expression a polite what the hell is this that Stiles has seen on his dad's face. "So the — so he makes you feel safe. How so?" Oh God, if Stiles doesn't puke or shit his pants, or get disemboweled by Derek or the alpha later, this might be pretty funny to tell his grandkids. Or Scott's, since Derek basically laid claim to him from now until — okay, think about that later.
"I don't — what do you mean?" How so? How so what? How does Derek make him feel safe? Well, Stiles usually imagines Ocean's 11 bank heists where Derek saves him from getting the shit beaten out of him, after he steals a trillion dollars. Or he's having a nightmare about the alpha and Derek and Scott show up and save the day like bosses.
"How does he make you feel safe?" Allison's dad asks patiently, and Stiles just has to blink at him, because he doesn't have an answer, oh fuck. "What, in particular, makes you feel safe around him? Especially after getting him arrested, which I know he didn't take kindly to," the man continues, and Stiles can see his patience wearing thin. Quickly, Stiles tries to think of why he feels safe around Derek, aside from the fact that Derek will keep him and Scott safe, and aside from the feeling that being pack gives him, in the center of his chest.
What if he tells Mr. Argent one of his nightmares? "We were. Um. We were in his car, and," Stiles blushes and frowns, like he doesn't want to continue, but Mr. Argent just hides whatever he's feeling in a mask of semi-pained neutrality. He nods to Stiles to continue, who quickly decides to make this particular story happier than 'and then the alpha bit off Derek's head before eating me.' Stiles sighs at the man's nod, and continues. "All of a sudden there was this howling, like a wolf, only," Stiles trails off, like it's too crazy to be repeated.
"What did Hale do?" One of the other hunters asks, and Stiles blinks. First, because he knows he should look surprised that they believe him, and second, because it's kind of a non-sequiter — until he gets that they think Derek was the one howling. Oh God, how embarrassing, this is fucking surreal. Making out with his werewolf boyfriend, and doing something that makes him howl. Stiles hates his life.
But, Stiles can do this. "He looked — he looked shocked and scared, kind of. It was so loud, and sounded so close to the car." Stiles says, and glares at the hunter who spoke when he looks like he'll argue, before looking back to Mr. Argent. "I know you don't believe me, but it sounded like a wolf. An angry, giant, man-eating wolf. When the mountain lion was, um, I thought we'd be safe, but now we have wolves too?"
"Did you see anything?" Mr. Argent asks, and Stiles knows that voice — it's just like his dad's voice when he's playing the part of the skeptic. He knows that Allison's dad believes him, though. Which is pretty awesome, but also terrifying. Which has basically been Stiles' life since Scott was bitten.
Stiles isn't sure which way to play it, except for how suddenly he is. His main protection is that he, apparently to them, doesn't know about werewolves. He didn't see anything, and he's not like Lydia — he has nothing strange to rationalize. He heard a fucked up rabid wolf thing. "Um," Stiles thinks quickly, about Derek and his really nice ass that abruptly Stiles realizes he hasn't gotten to touch, and gets a blush. "The windows were, uh, fogged. Kinda." Stiles stops, and then he realizes what he just said. "Oh my God, please don't tell my dad," Stiles is seconds away from really and truly panicking. His dad is going to arrest Derek for being a pedophile, no matter that the difference is three and a half years. "Not like — we weren't doing anything, my God please don't tell my dad," Stiles pleads again.
Allison's dad looks pained and slightly horrified, his eyes searching for any signs of a lie on Stiles' face. What's on Stiles' face right now is panic, Stiles knows, so he feels pretty safe aside from that. After a moment, Allison's dad looks — appeased, like he believes Stiles. "Relax, Mr. Stilinski. We were just — concerned," Mr. Argent says, and then tugs on something and puts the Jeep's hood back down. Stiles wishes he saw it, what if they did something to his Jeep in the movie theater parking lot? What if they saw Scott? "Apparently Mr. Hale is a perfect gentleman, of sorts," Mr. Argent sounds bemused when he says it, and Stiles just glares at him some more, and then all around as the hunters stifle chuckles. Oh, fuck them, he hopes the alpha eats their balls before Derek kills it. "I assume he drove away from the howling," Allison's dad prompts, and Stiles nods again.
"Like a bat out of hell," Stiles agrees with Mr. Argent, and then puts his hand on the hood of his jeep, planning on asking if he should try starting it. He'd really like to go home so he can try to kill himself, so that Derek doesn't actually have to rip out his throat. He could make it look like an accident so that his dad doesn't worry about him ever being unhappy.
Before he can ask, one of the other hunters laughs again, and says, "We aren't talking about vampires, kid," and Stiles wonders how these people are not, like, caught every time they have to do something even vaguely illegal. These idiots aren't even — how unsubtle is acceptable for when you're hunting supernatural creatures? What kind of idiots are these guys?
"Are you high? Drunk?" Stiles asks, shifting around to look at them. He feels Mr. Argent put a hand on his shoulder and jumps, looking down at it. "What the heck? I think I should call my dad," Stiles says firmly, and then tries not to shift away as the man squeezes his shoulder a little tighter before letting go altogether.
"Not necessary. Try to start her, I think it'll turn over," Mr. Argent says, and his tone has a just checking lilt, his smile is — friendly. It's genuine, like he's happy to help Stiles out, and while Stiles knows he thinks that it's more likely Mr. Argent thinks Stiles helped him out, it's still genuine. "And if anything weird happens, like that howling?" He stops to dig around in his pockets, and pulls out his billfold. Stiles takes the card he's handed and looks at Mr. Argent, curious. "Call me, kid."
Oh. Oh no, that won't happen, but Stiles nods, confused and wary and generally accepting. "What are you guys, hunters?" Stiles can't help but ask, and the expression on their face is priceless. Stiles is going to get himself shot one day, probably by these people.
Predictably, Allison's dad recovers first, giving Stiles a wry grin he's not supposed to understand. "Yeah, some pretty big game," Mr. Argent agrees, and then heads back to his truck. Stiles doesn't get back into the car until they drive away, and when he does, his Jeep does start. What the fuck. He pulls over to the side of the road and is out of the car before he throws up, thank God.
---
Stiles is shaky when he gets home. His dad isn't there, neither is Derek's car, and all Stiles can think for a moment is thank God. All he wants to do is take a shower and not think about what just happened, not have to lie about it, just — exist. He eyes the cabinet where his dad keeps his alcohol longingly as he passes it to go into the bathroom downstairs. He feels disgusting, like all of the stress of this evening is finally off of him but it's still on him, something he should shower away. He rinses the taste of bile out of his mouth with water, and then gets his dad's mouthwash out from the mirrored cabinet to do the job better.
Afterward, he stares into the mirror, thinking of what he should do. He should call Derek, he should call Scott, he should — fuck it. He wants to sleep. He doesn't want to deal with any of this. He does want to see Derek, but he doesn't think he has the energy for a conversation the likes of what will happen. Stiles rinses his face off with cold water, dries off, and then heads toward his room.
When he's on the stairs he feels it. Derek is up there, his anger and fear in the air, almost palpable. The relief Stiles feels is almost shattering; he did want to be alone, yeah, but Derek being here means that Stiles is safe, and it also means that Derek is safe from the hunters. He's paused on the stairs for a moment before running up, taking the remaining two at a time. He wants to see Derek, to make sure he's okay, to make sure Scott's okay.
As soon as he opens the door he braces himself instinctively, because Derek is just a blur in the dark, slamming him up against the frame so hard his back aches and he's dazed for a moment, breath knocked out of him from the impact and from Derek against him, pressed so tight he gasps. Stiles expected the pain, just as he expects Derek to verbally if not literally eviscerate him, but Derek just buries his face in Stiles' shoulder, turning his head to breathe deeply against his throat. Stiles feels Derek's anger dissipating like waves. Like him being there and his scent is calming Derek.
He always wonders what Derek smells, when he scents Stiles. Not in general — Stiles probably reeks of fear and relief and bile from when he vomited, but specifically, like what does his fear smell like? Stiles' hands are shaking, and he reaches up to grip Derek's jacket to stop them. Derek growls against him when he feels it, the small tremors. Stiles really doesn't want to have a conversation about what just happened. "What," Stiles tries to say, but his voice is rough. "What do I smell like?"
He feels Derek breathe again, the push of his chest expanding against Stiles. "Terror and desperation," Derek says after a moment. "Avoidance, and compassion, and anger, relief." Derek pauses, like he's giving Stiles a chance to say something. Stiles is calm, though, because Derek isn't raging anymore. He's not angry at Derek, either, so Stiles just sags further against him, pinned against the wall. "You always smell like submission," Derek's voice is rough, a thrill against Stiles' throat. "Which means you smell like you're mine," he says, and Stiles shouldn't be getting turned on. Derek smells that, too, and growls against his throat.
"Uh," Stiles says, because he really hadn't planned on it after his confrontation with hunters, but getting laid sounds really good right now. But his dad is going to be home at any moment. "My dad is going to be home soon," he says, a reminder to them both. Derek steps back, but Stiles can't make himself let go of his jacket. "But you could stay. Up here, I mean. It's safe," Stiles says, and when Derek nods slowly, looking down at Stiles like he's stupid. "What?"
"Idiot. I'm not leaving you alone tonight," Derek says. Stiles frowns at him, but gets distracted when Derek's hands move up to hold his. "Go take a shower, you'll feel better." Stiles feels better about letting go of Derek, now, as Derek peels off his hands and turns him around, gently pushing him out the door.
---
The shower does make Stiles feel better. He's quick about it, getting a lather of bubbles all over, using his shower gel to wash his short hair. It feels nice to be clean and warm. He knows that in horror movies a lot of people die in the shower, but with Derek down the hall and his dad probably at home by now, Stiles feels safe. As relatively safe as he can, when there’s a werewolf that could be discovered in his house at any time.
Stiles hurries in the shower, and sighs to himself when he's done because of course he'd forget clothes. He has to go into his room in just a towel with Derek, and get dressed, and expect nothing to happen. He dries off and puts the towel around his waist, before brushing his teeth. He gargles with mouthwash again — Stiles hates throwing up, and the fact that there's no taste of it left in his mouth doesn't matter, because it's disgusting and his memory is vivid.
When he gears himself up to walk out of the bathroom his dad is coming up the stairs. "Stiles, hey," his dad smiles at him, and Stiles forces himself to smile back, self-consciously hitching his towel tighter around him. "I was just coming up to tell you that dinner'll be ready in a few," he stops on the stairs, leaning a bit against the rail. "Thanks for going shopping, by the way." His dad never stops thanking him for that, no matter how many times Stiles does it.
"No problem. What're we having?" Stiles asks brightly, trying to edge toward his door, to get in between it and his dad. Subtly, of course, but with the way his dad is looking at him, he kind of doubts that he's managing it.
"Spaghetti, with that garlic bread you picked up," his dad smiles at him again, and Stiles, with his back toward the bedroom door now, can feel Derek's irritation and discomfort. It's prickling him in between his shoulder blades, and his dad must notice Stiles' own discomfort. "Well, I'll let you get dressed. Hurry down for dinner," his father says, reminding him like this whole conversation they're having isn't about exactly that.
"I will! Thanks, dad," Stiles says, and as soon as his dad's back is turned Stiles flees into his room. He rests his back against the shut door and when he opens his eyes, he sees Derek glowering at him. From on his bed, which is distracting. "Stop looking at me like that," Stiles whispers irritably, and walks over to his dresser. He doesn't even know why he's so frustrated — everything right now is infinitely better than it was an hour ago. He should be content, but he's just itching for something, anything else.
"I'm not looking at you like anything," Derek answers, sounding just as annoyed. Stiles looks over his shoulder to see if he's telling the truth, and oh wow he is so not. He's staring at Stiles' towel like it's offending him, and the way he's lounging on Stiles' bed is obscuring his view of Derek's crotch, but Stiles would bet that he's hard. Which is — Stiles, just from being in a towel, makes Derek like this. He's kind of scrawny and dorky, but Derek still wants him and God, what a great ego boost. He's frustrated because Derek's frustrated that he can't have Stiles right now, and one day soon, Stiles promises himself, he's going to learn to differentiate the emotions he feels as category one: Derek's, and category two: his own.
Stiles doesn't bother shutting his drawer. He quickly walks over to Derek, who looks alarmed and aroused, which looks really good on him. “Dude, you’re such a liar,” Stiles says when he gets up to the bed. He intends to sit down next to Derek for some stupid reason, and this is so dangerous because his dad is right down the stairs, but Derek seems to live in danger. He grabs the towel off of Stiles and then pulls him close, down, so that Stiles swings a leg over Derek and sits on his lap. “Oh God,” Stiles groans, feeling Derek’s dick through his clothes. He’s on display for Derek, spread across him, vulnerable to Derek’s hands which are rubbing up his thighs. Derek pushes his legs further apart, fingers digging into Stiles’ skin, and Stiles’ whole body lifts as Derek moves in a short, aborted thrust upward.
Stiles moans. “You should have stayed over there,” Derek growls, hands moving again. Stiles groans when Derek’s thumb brushes his balls, and he grinds down. “God, Stiles,” Derek says, and one hand wraps around Stiles’ dick while the other reaches up to pull him down for a kiss. Stiles’ groans are hidden in their mouths, swallowed by Derek. Derek’s licks into his mouth and God, this kiss is basically a tongue-fuck. Stiles whines, loud and needy, as Derek’s hand jacks his cock.
And then that hand is gone, terribly gone, but Derek is still kissing him so Stiles lies on him, whimpering as Derek holds him tighter and closer, one hand on the back of his head and the other — God, Stiles doesn’t know, but it’s not on his cock anymore. The kiss stops as Derek pants against his lips, and Stiles opens his eyes to see Derek’s own a bright glowing blue. “Derek,” Stiles moans, and then there’s that hand, gripping his ass, grinding him down harder onto Derek. “Please, God,” Stiles is trying to be quiet, he is, but he knows he’s not managing it.
“No,” Derek says, and when Stiles humps down again he groans, a quiet, agonized sound. “No, Stiles, you need to go downstairs,” Derek reminds, even though he’s still holding Stiles to him. Stiles wriggles, but he’s not sure what he’s trying to do — he wants to get closer, to continue, but he needs to get away from Derek before his dad comes up to remind him about dinner again.
“I know, I know,” Stiles groans, and pushes himself up, hand braced against Derek’s chest. Derek’s hands move, catch on Stiles’ hips, and just hold him for a moment. “You started it. You were all frustrated,” Stiles explains.
“Were? I was?” Derek interrupts incredulously, eyes narrowed into a glare, but Stiles ignores him.
“And I could feel it,” Stiles continues blithely. “Like it was my own frustration, which didn’t make sense, so I look over at you and really, what else was I supposed to do but come over here when you’re just, like, staring at my ass?” Derek grunts, and Stiles is lifted off of Derek and set on the side of him easily. Still hot to be managed like that, and still a little annoying.
“So you decided to come over here and make out with me, so we both could be sexually frustrated,” Derek sums up, and glares at him. Okay, so maybe Stiles didn’t think it through, but if Derek is looking at him like he wants to fuck Stiles, it’s really in Stiles’ best interests to make that happen. “Good plan,” Derek says derisively, and reaches down to adjust himself in his jeans. Now that Stiles can tell the difference, he can still feel Derek’s edged arousal and it’s like embers, hot underneath and fanning his own. It’s on the tip of his tongue to offer to help Derek get comfortable, but when he opens his mouth, Derek looks positively murderous.
Stiles’ mouth shuts with a click, and he stands quickly. He thinks about getting his towel from the floor to cover up again, but Derek’s eyes are roaming over him, looking at him with nothing but possessive want. “Right. I’ll just — go. Maybe get seconds and bring you up some?” Stiles asks, and turns away after he gets Derek to nod begrudgingly at him. He walks over to his dresser, trying to get over his self-consciousness, because if there’s any proof at all that Stiles doesn’t need to be he’s in Stiles’ bed, staring at him. If he bends a little further over his drawer than he actually needs to, just to hear Derek grit his teeth, it’ll be worth it later.
---
As a rule, Stiles and his dad don’t really do family dinners. They eat at the same time, sure, and they’ll even eat at the same table or in the same room, but they usually have other things they do while they eat. His dad works on papers for work, and Stiles pretends to read a textbook or write a paper. So this time is a little different, because his dad already set the table, and there’s no work in sight.
Stiles’ stomach drops. This means a talk. “Uh, dad? What’s going on?” Stiles asks, and his dad winces from where he’s making their plates at the stove. So not a good sign.
“While I was on my way home from work, I got a call from Chris Argent,” his dad says, and Stiles instinctively grabs his phone from his pocket. Shit, fuck, okay, he can deal with this. Stay where you are! Stiles types quickly to Derek. He knows that Derek is listening in on him, and he doesn’t want Derek to leave.
“Um, yeah,” Stiles says, and pockets his phone again before his dad turns around, bearing their plates. “My car stalled, and I couldn’t get it going again. He — I don’t know, really. Did something, got it going,” Stiles takes the plate his dad hands him, and sits down at the table. Christ, his dad even got him a glass of water, so this means that they are going to converse and there’s nothing that Stiles can do to stop it. That asshole called his dad, hunters totally suck.
“He mentioned that,” his dad says thoughtfully. “He also mentioned that you’re dating that Hale kid,” he adds in much the same tone, but Stiles can’t really tell because his heart is beating so hard it’s filling his brain with sound. Stiles’ phone buzzes, but his dad continues. “Stiles, stop panicking, son. I’m just trying to — understand, I guess?” His dad sounds plaintive, and the glances down at his plate.
“Um. Oh God,” Stiles says. He glances down too, reading his phone, and it’s from Derek. I told you i’m not leaving and Calm down, your heartbeat is deafening is all the messages read, and Stiles is trying, really he is. Stiles looks back up at his dad, sees him looking compassionate and nervous and awkward, and picks up his glass of water. He drains it, and then shakes his head to clear it.
“So it’s not true?” His dad asks, and Stiles winces at the relief in his voice.
“No,” Stiles says, and then meets his dad’s eyes. “It is true. I, um.” His dad blinks at him, and sits back in his chair. Well, after all the lies that he’s told his dad, this is the one he wishes never came to light. His dad is going to refuse to let him do anything except school and hopefully lacrosse practice, and Scott’s probably going to die by the alpha’s hand, and all because he got caught in a lie by his best friend’s girlfriend’s dad.
His dad blinks again. “So. It is true,” his dad repeats after him, kind of disbelieving. “I need a drink,” he says, and stands abruptly to get the liquor that Stiles is suddenly very happy he never touched. Stiles wonders if other families have these problems, as he quietly panics and watches his dad take one quick gulp, and then another, before refilling his glass. “Tell me that you’re not — that he hasn’t — oh my God.” His dad reaches up to rub a hand across his face, and for once, Stiles has no idea what to say, so he actually stays quiet. “Let’s get something straight, okay? I don’t care that he’s a guy,” his dad meets his eyes as he says this, and Stiles nods. “What I care about is that he’s several years older than you are, and that he’s — that you thought he was a murderer, and now you’re dating him?”
“It’s not — we’re hanging out, not dating. He’s, oh my God I cannot possibly hate Mr. Argent more than right now,” Stiles mutters. “He’s a,” Stiles is going to say friend, but the word gets stuck in his throat. “I like him, and he’s — dad, we’re both very aware of my age,” Stiles says instead. “And he’s also aware that you’re the sheriff.” Stiles isn’t sure how to make it so that people believe that he and Derek aren’t fucking when that’s really all they’re doing, but figures that if his dad thinks that Derek is scared of the consequences instead of apathetic about them like reality, it’s for the better.
“I see,” his dad says, and leans forward. “So you’re not,” he starts to ask, and Stiles thanks God that he cuts himself off. He hasn’t discussed his sex life with his dad since he got the sex talk from him, and his dad somehow knew to include girls and boys, and never gave any inclination that it bothered him. "You're not," his dad tries again, and Stiles quickly closes his eyes when his dad gestures.
Not at the moment, Stiles thinks. He says, “no. No. Um, no.” Stiles opens his eyes and glances at his dad. The relief on his dad’s face is mingled with such awkwardness, and Stiles wonders how uncomfortable Derek is upstairs. “You, uh. Aren’t going to like, forbid me from seeing him.” It’s a statement until Stiles realizes that if his dad hasn’t already done it, there’s a good chance he just put the idea in his dad’s head. “Are you?” he tacks on quickly, because that — it’s one thing to disobey and lie to his father all the time by sins of omission, but if his dad is actively looking to thwart Stiles’ attempts to see Derek and help Scott — this all just got that much more difficult.
“I — Stiles, I actually started to turn my car around to head over to the kid’s house, after that call,” his dad says, and Stiles can feel the bile rise in his throat again. He’s never felt this doomed before, not since his mom — and it’s different now, in a way. With his mom’s death, there was never the absolute certainty that his life was in danger, as well. His dad was just the center of his life, suddenly, and Stiles didn’t adjust to that gracefully.
Now Stiles has new interest — Scott’s always been there and he doesn’t count — and Stiles feels that neither he nor his dad is adjusting well. Stiles, with what he’s coming to terms with as his denial about how truly serious all of this is, and his dad with — well, all of it, probably. “Dad?” Stiles asks quietly, because he knows what’s coming. His dad is going to forbid that he do anything ever again until he’s out of the house, out of love, and Stiles won’t even be able to truly fault him because he knows what’s out there better than his father. That doesn’t mean he won’t disobey him, because he totally will. It just makes everything more soul-crushing and heart-rending.
His dad sighs, and pours himself another drink. “I can’t exactly forbid you from seeing him, can I?” He asks contemplatively. “I know you, son, and I know that when I say to do something you only listen when you feel like it. As long as you can promise me that you’re safe,” Stiles very carefully doesn’t wince, “and — happy, I’m not going to forbid anything. Not at the risk of alienating you,” his dad adds, like he’s being selfish for his choice.
“Oh. Wow, okay,” Stiles says, and is — speechless. His dad is allowing this, and Stiles feels a shaky sort of hope that things actually just got better instead of worse. But he needs to get away from the table or else it’ll all go to hell, because he’ll say something or do something and his dad will rescind every permission he’s ever granted Stiles in the history of his life. “So, um. Can I finish eating upstairs?”
“Aren’t you going to thank me for being such an understanding father?” His dad asks sarcastically, like he doesn’t actually think he deserves any thanks at all. Whatever, Stiles clearly adores his dad, but if he doesn’t leave the table right now and get away from his dad’s very understanding nature, Stiles is going to say something stupid. Like werewolves werewolves werewolves, and then Stiles would have to go on the run to stay alive, and he's pretty sure Derek could find him no matter what.
“Dad, you know you’re the best in the world,” Stiles says sincerely, and stands. His dad just eyes him like he’s looking for Stiles’ usual sarcasm, and seems defeated when he can’t find it. “I’ll, um. Eat upstairs,” Stiles doesn’t mean that at all. He lost his appetite as soon as his dad mentioned the Argents, if he ever even got it back from meeting Mr. Argent. He’ll give it to Derek.
“You do that,” his dad says to himself, and pushes away his own plate. “If he hurts you I’m shooting him,” his dad adds, and looks at Stiles seriously, meaning every word. Stiles is comforted by the fact that his dad — unless he’s very seriously mistaken about something — doesn’t have access to the type of bullets that can hurt Derek. Stiles snags a huge chunk of bread before he escapes the room, not bothering to answer.
Stiles realizes when he’s about to step onto the first stair that now, he has to go face Derek. Stiles definitely hates his life. He tries, as he slowly makes his way up the stairs, to see if he can feel what Derek is feeling. He gets to the last step before he gives up and walks normally, because for all he knows Derek could have left. Or he could be reading on Stiles’ bed, looking absolutely unconcerned with everything Stiles just went through, what the hell.
Stiles unceremoniously drops the plate of spaghetti onto Derek’s lap, taking just enough care to make sure it doesn’t splatter all over his book. “Why are you so calm about this? Oh my God, did you not hear that my dad was going to shoot you?” Stiles hisses. Derek glares at him, and Stiles finds himself taking the book he’s handed as Derek steadies the plate.
“He wouldn’t have,” Derek says confidently, and immediately picks up the fork on the plate. “And it had to come out eventually.” When he says that, Stiles can legitimately think of no reply. And then Derek starts eating his food, which of course makes Stiles hungry — or maybe that’s Derek’s hunger affecting Stiles? Either way, Stiles steals the bread back and Derek only glares a little bit.